Blue Water
by Belen09
Summary: Just a cautionary tale, about something causing indigestion . . . implied T/R only


Blue Water

A short cautionary tale about particularly stupid ideas . . . at the very least they cause indigestion.

T/R PG-13 AU

For Jespah – "I've written a 'ton' of these things - a stress-reliever, as it were."

OOOOO

Malcolm loved that semi-awake state where he could 'direct' his thoughts and shape reality; this day he was currently making passionate love to Trip in a wooded glen without having to worry about any of the plants or the wildlife causing problems. (In actuality, while Trip had suggested such – Malcolm knew exactly what poison ivy looked like, and had no intention of letting it anywhere close. He pointed to a spot, approximately fifteen to twenty feet away and declared, "That is poison ivy. No." "You're a killjoy, Malcolm," replied Trip with a smirk, "It'll be fun!" Malcolm only said, "No.")

This state of affairs might have continued except that all of sudden, a loud scream came from the other occupant of Commander Tucker's quarters – namely Trip Tucker himself. That and his attempt to rise out of the bed obviously unaware that the Englishman was cozened up to him, caused Reed to pitch forward and land hard on his chest and arms on the floor with a "woof!" This did make Malcolm totally wake up and he lay on the deck and moaned. He finally managed to gather his thoughts.

Using a modicum of self-control that he definitely didn't feel, Reed managed to say nonjudgmentally, "Why did you dump me out of the bed?" He figured that the scream had also had something to do with it, but at this point, he could barely breathe. Malcolm lifted his head and noticed the confusion on Trip's face as he surveyed the room. "Trip?" he ventured; it didn't feel like he had broken a rib but he had landed with a great deal of force.

"Nazis! Alien Nazis! It was the Nazis!" cried the chief engineer, who didn't seem to know how idiotic that sounded. Malcolm slumped into the floor and examined the fiber of the carpet. 'Of all the things to possibly break a rib on!' thought Malcolm. Trip had scheduled a movie the other night that Malcolm had steadfastly refused to watch – 'the very thing! 'Werewolves in London'!' he thought, 'undoubtedly a result of too much horror movie watching!' He reached up and hauled himself back on the bed and sat down next to the disheveled Trip. Keeping his temper under control, he quietly said, "What was this all about?"

" . . . and then the Nazis fighter planes shot at the Enterprise, an' we managed to get away, an' we musta destroyed the alien's time machine, cause we were back at Earth at the right time and all the people greeted us back from saving Earth from the Xindi weapon." Commander Tucker paused from his breathless, tumbling head-over-heels recitation of his dream, and looked at his partner who was rubbing small circles in the small of the Southerner's back. Malcolm, however, was looking at the row of bottles – five in all – carefully lined up against the base of the desk.

They had been given the libation courtesy of the Andorian Shran, and the UT translated it as 'ale'. 'Lovely bottles' thought Reed; but the drink inside was ferocious, and after one intemperate gulp, the Englishman had limited himself to sipping the liquid. Trip was not so cautious – while he fully announced that 'this stuff is as strong as my granddaddy's best', he finished off a full three bottles plus. Phlox had said that the actual alcoholic content wasn't that high, so the tactical officer hadn't concerned himself with poisoning, but now he wondered about 'possible mind-altering substances' . . .

"Love," he began carefully, "The Nazis never would have accepted those aliens" (He almost said 'your aliens' but that would not have been helpful.) Since he'd grown up in both Britain and Malaysia, Malcolm had gotten a solid grounding in the cultural implications of World War II, not to mention his father's obsessive regard for past naval engagements. Reed had his own hobbies regarding warfare, and the reasons for conflict and had a private collection of videos including the seminal 'Victory At Sea', a production made only a few years after the war in question.

At that moment he decided to introduce that series and a few others – 'The World At War' narrated by Sir Lawrence of 'Richard III' fame – that came to mind - to Mr. Tucker. 'Victory At Sea' would have to wait until later tonight; right now Malcolm remembered the opening credits, and while the music was brilliant, the pictures of the rolling, moon-lit ocean – his stomach never could have stood the sight . . .

"Trip, let's get a bit of breakfast . . . nothing too much, love . . . just enough to settle our stomachs . . ." After dressing, Malcolm Reed led Trip Tucker to the Mess Hall hoping that there was something 'suitable'. Anything to get his love's mind off non-existent 'Nazis'.


End file.
